


You're in a bar with a beautiful boy

by BarricadeKitten (Dominatrix)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Eames needs all the hugs, Exes, M/M, Pain, Past Relationship(s), Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 04:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10983039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/BarricadeKitten
Summary: In which Eames can't forget about Arthur and it hurts to even think about him.





	You're in a bar with a beautiful boy

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the gorgeous "You are Jeff" by Richard Siken. (Though in the original it's 'You're in a car'.)
> 
> I might write a second chapter/happy ending/reconciliation if anyone's interested?

Eames sits in a far too fancy bar, turning his glass between his hands and bouncing his leg nervously. He can’t hear the ice cubes clinking against each other over the pretentiously jazzy music, but he wishes he could. It would give him something to focus on instead of his most recent and biggest failure to date.

They had started with the whole Inception team, just a small get-together roughly a year after they managed to pull off a near-impossible job and made their names immortal in the dreamshare business. Even Dom had shown up for a while, not even the first to leave. That had been Saito, being pulled away by a very young redheaded guy who was whispering furiously in his ear, probably about ridiculous amounts of money.

Now it’s only Ariadne and him left; Yusuf had dropped off shortly after Dom had returned to his kids, claiming he needed his beauty sleep.

Arthur has to be around somewhere as well, but Eames would prefer not to think about their point man just now. They had barely looked at each other all evening, at least not when the other could see and catch them doing it.

“So, you and Arthur” Ariadne quips when she drops in the seat opposite to him, frightfully bright cocktail in her small hand. And really, Eames should give her a lesson about decency and politeness, only it still hurts to hear Arthur’s name, so he doesn’t, sends her a carefully calculated cheeky look that always works instead. Inwardly, he wonders how Ariadne figured it out, but then again she had always been too curious for her own good.

“Indeed, dear. Surprised?”

“A bit, really. Do you mind telling me about it?” She looks awfully young and excited, big brown eyes shining in the flattering dim light, and Eames knows she’s waiting for a rollercoaster of a story. Epic fights and wonderful reconciliations, many tears and even more declarations of love.

The thing is…He could tell the story like that. But it’s only been a few weeks since Arthur left, and Eames can’t even think about saying any of that out loud without his throat closing up. He could pretend that Arthur and him had only slept together to pass the time, but that particular lie would be even more painful than telling the truth.

“Oh, you know. Same old story. We worked together, got together, then found that we were better if we were only partners in crime.” He takes another long sip of his whiskey, even managing a small smile before his lips close around the cool rim. He doesn't even like whiskey, but right now he appreciates the burn.

He doesn’t tell Ariadne about the now-empty flat in Copenhagen, doesn’t tell her how it used to be _theirs_ until Arthur left and Eames could only just refrain from burning the whole thing to the ground to try and get rid of the painful memories.

He doesn't tell her about the lazy weekends in bed, watching old movies on Arthur's laptop instead of on the actual tv in their living room because that would involve moving and there was nowhere the two men would rather be than in each other's arms.

He doesn’t tell her about the cat, doesn’t tell her how much Penrose hates Eames now because he’s the reason her favourite human in the world left her without a word, doesn’t tell her that she hisses at him every time he so much as approaches her but that he still doesn’t have the heart to drop her off at a shelter because she was _their_ cat, and most days he waits for Arthur to come back as much as she does.

He doesn’t tell her about the ring that is still in that stupid little black velvet box, in his bedroom drawer in Mombasa, the one he had planned to give to Arthur once they had a bit of time between jobs but in the end never got to.

He doesn’t tell her that it took four years, four bloody years, before Arthur decided this – Eames, Copenhagen, Penrose, all of it – wasn’t what he wanted after all.

He doesn’t tell Ariadne any of this, and it’s to protect Arthur’s image as a cold point man as well as to protect his own heart from thinking too much about the man he loves…who didn’t love him back enough to stay.

“Never would have pegged him for the relationship type anyway, to be honest.”

“Yes, well…Apparently he isn’t. I should have known he would break my heart one day.”

His words are theatrical like they mostly are, but his voice is lacking spirit and without the grand gestures, the pretend-fainting or the exaggerated facial expressions, it sounds very true and very painful. Ariadne, luckily, is about one-and-a-half drinks too deep to notice the sincerity in Eames’ voice and the pain in his eyes when he searches for Arthur and finds him sitting at the bar in one of his exquisite three-piece suits. He's in conversation with a handsome man who looks just about enough like Eames that he’s offended by it. He doesn’t quite admit to himself that it makes him unbearably sad as well.

“I didn’t know you had a heart, Mr. Eames” Ariadne says teasingly, the seriousness of the topic obviously lost to her alcohol-laced brain.

The corner of his mouth twists in the parody of a smile, but at the same time he has to clench his jaw to stop himself from screaming out loud. He sees how the man places a hand on Arthur’s forearm while the point man smiles at the contact, leaning in just a bit closer.

“Neither did I, love. Neither did I.”

He doesn’t flinch when Arthur notices the stare from across the room and looks back at Eames, and the forger doesn’t look away either; instead, he lifts his half-full glass of whiskey to his lips and drains it in one long gulp before looking for a waiter to order another one.

It’s going to be a long night.


End file.
